


After Assen

by 994527



Category: MotoGP RPF, Motorcycling RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 12:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/994527/pseuds/994527
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a 'Marc comforts Jorge after Assen' prompt on Motorskink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After Assen

“It’s Marc.”

Jorge pursed his lips and frowned. _It’s Marc?_ He nodded a ‘let him in’ and watched as the younger rider nervously appeared through the door. He paused briefly as the Yamaha team member exited, closing the door behind him, before turning back to Jorge and trying a smile. “Hey.”

The older rider started to try and push himself further up the bed before immediately regretting and aborting that plan. _No, I’m going to have to stay here, elegantly splayed wherever they dropped me._ “Hey.”

Marc’s face echoed the twinges on his rival’s as he watched Jorge try to move and then give up. _I think you did enough, for today._ His eyes wandered over the pillows stacked up behind him and he took a step and a half forward, intending to move them, before he faltered and realised he’d not asked if that would be appreciated. “You want to sit up more?” He watched the Yamaha Factory Racing rider nod through gritted teeth and could see the frustration on his face. “Can I move the cushions for you?”

The Mallorcan’s nostrils flared slightly before he nodded. “Thanks. That would help a lot. I…Today was a lot of effort. I need to just…not move. For a while.”

Marc grabbed the free cushions and positioned them behind the Yamaha rider. “Ok…you’re going to have to sit up slightly then…ok?” 

“Yeah.”

“Ok, go…” Marc deftly squished the cushions in the vacated space and watched as the same grateful, angry frustration appeared on Jorge’s face. _I can imagine._ “It must be frustrating.”

His compatriot nodded.

“Well…I don’t know. It’s amazing what you did today. You came fifth. That’s incredible. I don’t think ‘how well you can sit up’ five hours later is that importa-

“I just don’t like letting other people see.”

Marc felt his eyebrows involuntarily rise as the short, sharp words tumbled out, trying to figure out how to get across what he was attempting to say, and also trying to figure out why exactly he wanted to say it. “Yeah, I understand, I think. But, I don’t know...” _Just say it, and see._ “With me, it doesn’t matter. I know that every time I race you, you give your 100%. Sometimes, and especially if you’re not healthy, it won’t be enough to win. Sometimes, when you are, you’ll make us look silly. And sometimes I will beat you. But I’m not interested in your ‘show’. I don’t care how healthy you are 10 minutes before a race, because I know it makes no difference when your visor goes down. If it’s possible, you’ll do it.”

Jorge stared at him in amazement. _If it is possible…_ “Wh…where did that come from?”

Marc shrugged and cringed slightly as he realised he’d sat himself on the edge of the bed like it was his, maybe a little closer than the Mallorcan would enjoy. _He’s not like you. He doesn’t hug, he talks._. “Just…I don’t know. You shouldn’t feel frustrated right now. You should feel really, really smug.” Marc pointed at himself and then the jug of water on the table next to the bed as he spoke, getting a positive response and pouring himself a drink. “Valentino likes to mess with your head. I…I don’t care about that. Well…” He looked at Jorge conspiratorially, “…sometimes I have tried to mess around with Dani. Just a bit.” He grinned and watched as his compatriot at least shared some of his wickedness. “But…just fun. I would never…I don’t know. I don’t want to make enemies. But I’m more interested in winning than making friends.”

Jorge was looking at him slightly sideways, eyes narrowed as though trying to weigh him up, mouth curving into a small smirk as he seemed to believe and like what he was hearing. “Me too.” He smiled and nodded at the younger rider. “Some people never got that message, but still.”

Marc grinned at him and shrugged. “Well I have.”

Jorge’s phone started to ring as he opened his mouth to respond, instinctively reaching out for it and growling as the pain hit him. “Owwwwwwww.”

Marc frowned in concern and found himself suddenly very closely face to face with the Mallorcan as he leaned over him, fingers grabbing the phone as his eyes stared into Jorge’s, not looking what he was doing, gently putting the phone on the Yamaha rider’s thigh and slowly zooming back out to how he was sat before. Jorge answered the call with an apologetic glance at his unexpected guest, said a few words in answer to some inaudible questions, then put it down again and they sat in silence for a few seconds, both feeling the strange charge that had accompanied the eye contact. _Too close? Or not close enough?_

Marc let out a little breath and hauled his eyes away and let them wander round the room. “What happened this year?” _Innocent enough question. I hope you know what I mean._

“What do you mean?”

 _Right. Fine._ Marc narrowed his eyes slightly and looked back at the older rider. “Is it because I’m a threat to you now?”

The Yamaha rider sighed and blinked slowly as he realised what he meant. “No. It’s not because you’re a threat. It’s because…I don’t know.”

“So you admit it’s you, not me? Who changed it?”

Jorge held his eye contact for a long couple of moments before nodding. “Yeah.”

Marc let out a whoosh of air and bit his lips slightly. “Right. Because I thought I…I’m not sure. I was a bit worried I’d moved up here and become…someone else. That you didn’t like. And before you say anything…I know you disagree with the way I ride sometimes. But I’m talking about off track. Like…why is it weird for me to be here right now? Hmm? It wouldn’t have been weird before. But it was weird, wasn’t it? It was weird waiting outside for an answer and I even wondered if you _would_ answer…”

Jorge stared at the younger rider as Marc did everything in his power to keep his voice calm and measured, his eyes looking anywhere but at Jorge.

“But I’m glad you did answer.” The younger continued, “Because now you’re trapped and can’t run away from what I’m saying!” A wicked grin spread across his face and Jorge felt himself mirror it slightly, a strange mixture of guilt, relief and irritation stopping it from becoming a full blown smile. “But seriously, well…tell me why.”

The older rider stared out the window for a few seconds before looking back at Marc. “It’s not you, it’s me.” He grinned sheepishly at the cliché and shrugged as Marc grinned back at him. “It’s…difficult to explain. I think I’ve been a bit stupid. It’s not because you’re a threat – I mean, the best friend I’ve probably ever had in the paddock was Casey, you know? – I think…I don’t know. It’s like what you said before. Valentino. Games. Poker. Keeping your cards close to your chest. I can’t get over that mind set with some people. With you. I feel like I have the measure of Dani and, now, Valentino. I didn’t feel like that about Casey – I knew it would be a battle to the end like it will be with you – but I absolutely knew that he’s completely uninterested in any of that _politics_. So…”

Marc had been nodding along with the words until his rival paused, at which point he sat still and unblinking, waiting for the next bit.

“So…what you’ve just said…I…can we press the reset button?”

Marc’s mouth curved into a smile and he nodded again. “Good. Ok.”

“Ok?”

“Well…yeah. BUT…that doesn’t mean we forget everything. _If your memory is as good as mine…_ ”

 _Oh my god._ Jorge felt his cheeks flush slightly as he resolutely refused the break eye contact. _You did not just…_

Marc’s fingers were suddenly rotating Jorge’s arm outwards, tracing a line as though looking for something. “You still have that scar?”

The Mallorcan nodded and flexed his wrist to show it. “Yep.”

Marc giggled wickedly and wiggled his eyebrows. “Want to see mine?”

Jorge shook his head at the cheek, and at the memory of quite _where_ Marc’s proof of their mutual mishap was located. “No. I remember. I remember well.”

Marc shrugged and smiled. “Just thought I’d offer…”

“I don’t have any dollar bills to tuck into your panties, anyway.”

Marc grinned as he laughed and suddenly got to his feet, walking round to the other, empty side of the bed and unceremoniously dumping himself onto it. “That’s ok. I’m free nowadays. The day job pays better.” He picked up the controllers from the bedside table and put one on the Mallorcan’s crotch. “What’s in?”

 _Hands!_. He coughed slightly. “Fifa.”

“Right, hang on.” The younger rider dragged himself back to his feet and walked over to the console, swapping the disc and answering Jorge’s question as to why. “Because we’ll both want to be Barça? F1 2013. Sponsor duel?”

“That’s not fair, just because you have Red Bull here, you can’t have Red Bull there.” 

Marc pouted before rolling his eyes in defeat. “Ok, fine. Teammates, fair? Which?”

“Fine. Ferrari.”

“Ok. Track?”

“Montmeló?”

“Can’t overtake much.”

“Silverstone?”

Marc weighed it up and nodded. “Ok. You’re going _dowwwwwwn_ my friend.”

“We’ll see.” Jorge shot him a wide eyed stare as they revved on the grid. “We’ll see.”

They sat in silence occasionally punctuated by an ‘ooh’ or an ‘ah’ as braking points were missed, front wings were destroyed, and DRS overtakes happened too often. Eventually, they were in 10th and 11th fighting over the last point, on the last lap.

“I’m going to turn it off now.”

Jorge clicked the TV off before Marc could complain, which he did regardless.

“Why did you do that?! I had you!”

The Mallorcan rolled his eyes knowingly. “You’re here to make me feel better, not get aggressive, right? Tough. And, I had YOU.”

Marc ground his teeth together and took a few breaths. “Ok, ok…maybe…Ok.” He looked at the older rider and found his hand clasping around Jorge’s arm, thumb moving in a semi-circle gesture of affection. “Despite the fact that I definitely would have won…well. I see your point.” He gave it a quick squeeze and let go.

 _I’m going to ignore that. And your hands._ Jorge looked at him in fake shock. “You see my point?!”

Marc glared and nodded. “Yes. Never admit that in public, though. This has to be secret. ”

“This?” Jorge challenged the words instantly with a smirk. _What exactly is this?_ He pulled himself upright and listened to the dull thud as the pile of pillows unbalanced themselves and hit the floor. “You know, you really should be careful, flirting with everybody.”

Marc raised his eyebrows. “Who said it was everybody?”

 _Please just stop. Because I don’t want to say no. But I really, really want to beat you._ “Well…still.”

“Still?” Marc got off the bed and walked back round to where he’d been sat before, picking up the cushions and, this time, not asking before placing a hand on Jorge’s back and pulling him forward slightly as he put them back. “Just stay where you are.” He walked out the bedroom and disappeared, leaving Jorge wondering, and worrying, what he might be doing, reappearing a few moments later with an ice pack. “Will this help?”

Jorge nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.” He started to move to deal with it and Marc shook his head.

“I said stay where you are, right?” He nodded appreciatively as Jorge stopped moving. “Right…arms out.” The older rider complied with a slight grimace and Marc gently grabbed the hem of his rival’s t shirt and started to pull. Lorenzo wondered whether amusement or nervous terror was more prevalent in his expression.

“Actually…” Marc looked at him apologetically with a side order of mischief. “Just relax and stay still. Arms up. Don’t tense up…don’t freak out…” He kicked off his shoes and got on the bed again with surprising elegance, kneeling over the Yamaha rider’s legs; one leg one side, one the other. He heard Jorge’s breath catch. “Relax!” He shuffled up slightly and again grabbed each side of the bottom of the Mallorcan’s t shirt, pulling gently upwards and watching as the amount of bare midriff increased. “Ok.” He pulled the head hole over Jorge’s head and laughed at the Spartan’s expression. “Just relax! I’m trying to help! Ok…arms…” He shuffled backwards as the t shirt journeyed down his rival’s forearms towards him, finally coming free. “See…painless, right?”

 _In one way, yes. In another, no._ Jorge nodded at him and waited to see what would happen next.

Marc put the t shirt down and grabbed the ice pack, again moving in closer, pressing it lightly where it needed to be and holding it in place. He hovered, kneeling dangerously close above his rival’s crotch, eye contact again feeling claustrophobic. “Is that any better?” His voice was a lot softer and some of the cheekiness had gone. “Hmm?”

Jorge nodded gently and smiled, genuinely. “It really is.”

His younger rival smiled back and suddenly relaxed and sat on Jorge’s legs. “Am I too heavy?”

Shake of the head. “No…”

“Good.” Marc stayed where he was, eyes concentrating on the ice pack and collarbone once the eye contact got too much. Jorge sat and wondered how he’d ended up there, how to get out of the situation, and if he wanted to. _I don’t think there’s a right or wrong answer to that question._

Marc’s eyes met his again and seemed to enquire as to whether he could now move. Jorge nodded and felt a stab of disappointment hit him as the younger rider dismounted, but not before he gently placed the Yamaha rider’s hand on the ice pack on top of his own, sliding his free. “Any better?”

Nod. 

“Good.” Marc lay down again on ‘his’ side of the bed, and stared at the ceiling. “I can’t believe you rode today, you know. And I can’t believe you came 5th!”

“Me neither. I feel it now, though. I just hope it’s worth it.”

“It will be. Even if only because _everyone_ will remember this forever.”

Jorge laughed slightly and looked down into Marc’s face. “Yeah, that’s why I did it. Showing off.” He smiled and shook his head. “No seriously, it had better be worth it.”

“Well…look at it this way. We talked…”

“True.”

“And…I think it’s normal again, now…yeah?”

Jorge nodded. “Whatever normal is?”

Marc smiled and shrugged. “Yeah, true. But…it’s worth it because you changed everything today. Even if Vale or me or Dani win the next 8 races and you come 10th, no one can go home if they’re in pain now. You’ve set the bar too high.”

Jorge wondered what to say to that, and couldn’t come up with anything before Marc carried on.

“But, I mean…it’s just because you had the opportunity, really. I would have done that. Easy. And I wouldn’t have fucking cried about it.”

Jorge felt himself laugh, properly, for the first time since he’d hit the floor in practice, and grimaced at the accompanying pain. “Thanks.” _Thanks for coming, and caring, and generally just letting me figure you out a bit better._

Marc smiled and started flicking through TV channels, evidently not planning on leaving anytime soon. “No problem.” The younger rider moved up the bed slightly and put the TV remote in between them, leaving his arm where it fell, back of his palm resting against his rival’s forearm, relaxed. _I'm glad you let me in._ “No problem.”


End file.
